


Sober

by ABookAndACoffee



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking Games, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-12-03 13:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11532870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/ABookAndACoffee
Summary: In which Nesta and Cassian get into drinking contests."A muffled sound came from the pillow. Sheets were wrapped around his hips low enough so that Nesta said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t move too much. And another simultaneous prayer that he would.'What was that noise?' she asked.Cassian lifted his head. 'Everything is fuck.' He threw his face back down dramatically, gripping the pillow as if it would save him from the way the sunlight invaded his senses, or perhaps it might serve as an anchor in a room that wouldn’t stop spinning."





	1. The morning after

Nesta threw open the curtains of the bedroom and was rewarded with a grunt from Cassian. After securing the heavy fabric, she turned to the bed. 

“Cassian,” she said, a reminder that the curtains hadn’t opened themselves, and that he had responsibilities to attend to. 

A muffled sound came from the pillow. Sheets were wrapped around his hips low enough so that Nesta said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t move too much. And another simultaneous prayer that he would. 

“What was that noise?” she asked. 

Cassian lifted his head. “Everything is fuck.” He threw his face back down dramatically, gripping the pillow as if it would save him from the way the sunlight invaded his senses, or perhaps it might serve as an anchor in a room that wouldn’t stop spinning. 

“Everything is most certainly not ‘fuck’,” she answered. “The weather is perfect for training, which is where you should be right now. Stop lazing about and setting a bad example.” 

Cassian flipped over onto his back, disturbing the sheets enough so that Nesta looked away. He let out a chuckle, not caring if she heard it. When their eyes finally met, he saw that she was impeccably coiffed and dressed, hair pulled back in a braid and Illyrian fighting leathers up to regulation, her eyes bright and alert, as if she hadn’t gone to bed only a few hours before. Which he knew she had. 

They had spent the night drinking, Cassian sure that he would be able to drink the slight, newly Made woman under the table. To his chagrin, that was not how the evening had turned out. He tried to remember the series of events that had led to this situation and found himself woefully missing entire chunks of time in his memory. That could not be a good thing. 

Yet here was Nesta, standing straight and sure, ready to take on ten armies by herself. 

“Why don’t you have a hangover?” Cassian asked. “Why are you awake? Why… isn’t everything fuck for you?” 

Nesta shrugged. “Magic.” She ran a finger over the fireplace mantle, pretending to brush away dust. 

“But that doesn’t make sense. I have magic,” he grumbled. “I have seven Siphons full of magic. Other Illyrians only have one or two.” He honed his senses to take in more of her, to find the slightest hint of alcohol or sick coming from her, and discovered nothing except her lavender soap and the detergent used to wash the linen shirt she wore under her leather vest. 

“I know how many Siphons you have, Cassian, and I really doubt they were designed to help you become an alcoholic. Maybe it’s a woman thing,” she replied, “We’re made from tougher stuff than males. It’s too bad you didn’t realize that before you drank yourself into a stupor.” 

He didn’t reply, making a mental tally of how many drinks he’d had the evening before. He had stopped counting at 7 various mixed drinks, but surely it couldn’t have been much more than that? 

“Eight,” Nesta said, anticipating him. “You had eight drinks before you… retired for the evening.” 

“How many did you have?” Cassian asked. They kept pace with each other, which meant she had to have had at least that many. He wasn’t quite sure how it was possible, considering he had never seen her take more than a glass of wine with dinner. 

“I’m not telling you. Get up, time’s wasting.” Nesta moved to the other side of the room, opening more curtains and eliciting another groan from Cassian. 

“I really don’t think I can, Nesta. Tell everyone I’ve decided to die instead, on the toilet.” He sat up and splayed his hands on the bed, steadying himself before he tried to stand. The room was rather uncooperative and decided to spin even faster, and Cassian figured that if the forces of nature and architecture were refusing to help him out, he had not choice but to give up. Head hanging, he fell back onto the pillow and covered his eyes with his forearm. An unpleasant gurgling sound came from his stomach, and he covered it with his hands, trying to forget the number alcohol would pull on his digestive system. 

Nesta sighed and threw his robe on top of him. “Ok, here’s the deal. If you get out of bed right now so we can train, I’ll give you a rematch. Tonight.” 

Cassian moved his arm just enough to look at her, struggling between a grin and a grimace as he asked, “Tonight?” 

“Well,” she considered, “Maybe tomorrow, for your sake.” His stomach answered with another churning noise. “For now, you have to wash up, get dressed, and go out there as if you had every intention of sleeping in. Or perhaps you should tell them that you were… strategizing. Whatever it is that would save face.” 

He nodded as if in deep understanding. “What does the winner get?” 

Nesta crossed her arms. “Winner?” 

“Yeah, winner. Last night, we said-“ he paused, trying to remember what Nesta had apparently won from him. “I don’t remember what we said, which works out for me since I lost. But tomorrow night, this is the real deal. What does the winner get?” 

“We’ll decide tonight. Let’s not strain your brain too much right now, you need it for work.” Nesta moved to the door, her hand reaching for the handle as Cassian spoke up again. 

“Ness?” he began uncertainly. She turned back towards him as he staggered to his feet, swaying unsteadily.“Can you… hold my hair back? Please?” 

With an exaggerated sigh, she nodded and followed him into the bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2

The next evening saw Cassian and Nesta at Rita’s. Usually Cassian would have insisted that they meet at the pub that he frequented, but when Mor suggested Rita’s, he realized that he might need the moral support of his best friend to see him through potential bad decisions. While he thought it would be a nice idea for Mor to be there to talk him out of those choices, he knew her well enough to realize she might view this evening as more of a spectator sport than anything else. 

Ambling in, Cassian searched the room for Nesta. She and Mor had already made themselves comfortable at a table nearly center of the place where they were practically on display. Surely that couldn’t have been Nesta’s choice, and something in the way that Mor grinned as she waved him over told him that they may have conspired. 

Nesta stood to move to a chair that would be across from Cassian, nodding in greeting. She hadn’t bothered to change out of the pants and perfectly-fitted vest that she wore to training, and Cassian tried to turn his head away even as he realized that pants were so much better for revealing the perfect shape of her ass than any dress. No matter. That wasn’t what tonight was for. Tonight, he was going to drink her under the table, just to get the satisfaction of waking her with a hangover at an ungodly hour the next day. 

Mor signaled to a bartender, who nodded and began preparing. He had been notified, apparently. Cassian shifted in his seat, crossing his arms. “So, what’s the prize?” 

Nesta met his gaze and sipped a glass of water. “You have to tell Mor what you did the last time you came here without her.” 

Mor whipped her head at Cassian as he nearly jumped forward in his seat. “You came here without me?” she asked. “What the hell, Cass?” 

“No, you know that’s out of the question,” Cassian blurted out, ignoring Mor’s questions. 

Mor smiled, her eyes open in mock innocence. “Cassian, you tell me everything. What did you do?” 

He shook his head in reply, pointing a finger at Nesta. “Not a word. Unless…” Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Unless you agree to tell Feyre what we were really up to when we left her wedding ceremony early.” 

Nesta blanched, much to Cassian’s delight. He wasn’t even aware she was capable of it. 

“Absolutely not,” she snapped. Glancing at Mor as if some secret had already slithered its way from between them and into public view, Nesta took another drink of water. Preparation. She was smart, Cassian had to admit. He had walked into Rita’s practically panting, too busy to have eaten dinner, let alone hydrate. He was mostly assuredly screwed. 

“What do you suggest, then?” Cassian asked. 

Nesta rolled the bottom of her glass on the table, silent. “We each write something down. And then give it to Mor. And she’ll tell us if she thinks it’s a fair trade. And that way, we will already know that it’s something we don’t mind other people finding out about.” 

“Hey, I’m just a casual observer here,” Mor protested, though the look in her eye told Cassian that she was enjoying this far too much. “But if you insist, I suppose I’ll just have to take on this burden.” 

When the bartender came, equipped with a tray of shots, Mor reached for the napkins and, requesting a pen, handed them to Cassian and Nesta. “Any rules, then?” 

Cassian spoke up first. “No secrets.” 

“And nothing that will lead to stories tomorrow,” Nesta added. 

They nodded at one another in agreement and leaned over their napkins. They each wrote their preferences, Cassian scribbling his furiously while Nesta made a show of contemplation. Or at least, he thought it was a show. He couldn’t be entirely sure with her. When they were done, they handed the requests to Mor. She opened them carefully, a slight laugh coming from her as she read each one. 

“What do you think?” Cassian asked. “Are they reasonable rewards for being a champion drinker, capable of taking down entire rooms of men with our livers?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Mor said, laughing, “They are of equal value, I’d say.” Folding the napkins and tucking them under her bottle of wine, she leaned back into her seat. “You may proceed.” 

With formality, their contest began, Nesta eschewing games with complex rules for something much simpler. They would match each other, drink for drink, shot for shot, until one of them gave. 

Cassian knew he wouldn’t count his drinks as he didn’t particularly care how much he consumed, so long as he beat Nesta. They watched one another carefully, making sure that each other finished what was in their glass before moving on. Mor cheered them both on to the point that Cassian wasn’t sure whose side she was on, and after a while he realized he didn’t care. That, he supposed, was an effect of the alcohol. 

What seemed like hours later, after conversation and drinks upon drinks, Mor stood and wandered from the table to dance. Blinking, Cassian took Nesta in, trying to gauge her level of inebriation. He had started feeling a bit freer and dizzier well over an hour ago, and recently realized that they had all been laughing at what seemed like the funniest joke ever, until he couldn’t recall what the joke had been. 

Nesta’s face was slightly flushed, she kept insisting on drinking water in between drinks, and Cassian could have sworn he saw her start to sway. When she ordered various dishes for the table, he knew the alcohol was starting to have an effect. He may not have had a lot of memories from their previous go, but he did remember that Nesta gained more of an appetite when she drank, and he counted it as a small victory. 

“Cassian, I have a question to ask you,” Nesta said, setting down her recently-emptied glass. 

“Yes?” 

“What did you write down?” She gestured to the napkin underneath Mor’s emptied bottle of wine. They both eyed the napkins, Cassian pleased to see that it was bothering her, what she stood to lose when he beat her at this game. 

“I’m not telling you, sweetheart. And you’ll find out soon enough, anyway.” 

Nesta scowled, and then reached up to touch her face. “I feel funny,” she said before giggling. When Cassian began to laugh at her, she slammed a fist down on the table. “I am nowhere near done, you overgrown bat person,” she snapped. 

Cassian tipped back another drink and then surveyed the table, trying to calculate how many they had drunk. It was impossible, however, as the waiter was too good at clearing the table. With only a vague memory of what he had spent his evening doing, he reached across the table, his pinkie in the air. “Nesta, I promise you, pinkie swear,“ - he waited for her to join her finger to his own, and she reluctantly wrapped her finger around his - “that I am going to kick your ass this time.” 

Nesta wrenched her hand away and finished the rest of her drink with flourish. “Screw. You. Cassian,” she said, but the way she gripped the edges of the table had him doubting her ability to follow through. When she stood to follow Mor onto the dance floor, Nesta began to fall back into her chair. Cassian caught her, a hand on her back as he guided her down into the seat. 

“I am not losing,” she said, even as she accepted his help. 

“Where’s your magic now, Ness?” he quipped. 

“Screw you, Cassian.” Nesta fell back into her seat with a sigh, as if the weight of the day were too much. 

“Ok,” Cassian said, measuring his words closely as Nesta’s expression changed. “I’ll make you a deal. You kiss me, and I’ll call it good. I will say you won, I will let you tell whoever you want that once again, you have beaten me. Even though we will know the truth.” 

Cassian prepared to return to his seat and defend himself against a verbal lashing, when Nesta agreed. Nodding, she closed her eyes and stiffened in preparation. Cassian nearly laughed, but instead he took her chin in his hand. She relaxed into his grip and opened her eyes, watching a he lowered his mouth to hers. 

It wasn’t the first time they had kissed, though no one else was aware of that fact. It also wouldn’t be the last time, given by how easily Nesta shifted towards him, her shaking limbs steadying as they wrapped around his shoulders. They both tasted of alcohol and sweat, the day having not quite worn off. Cassian threaded his fingers through her disheveled braid, relishing in this small part of her she had allowed to come undone. When Nesta made a satisfied noise, Cassian pulled himself away. 

“You win,” he said, his mouth pressed against her ear. 

Nodding, Nesta stood from the table, an arm resting on his shoulder. “Take me home?” 

****

In the early hours of the morning, their waiter was gathering the remnants of the evening when he finally got around to the table Cassian, Nesta, and Mor had been sitting at. Lifting the empty bottle of wine to throw into the trash, two folded napkins opened so that he could see the writing on them. One had been scribbled in large, uneven letters, while the other was clean, the writing nearly mistakable for print one would see in a book. 

Both napkins read : _a kiss_.


End file.
